17, Still Can't Swim

sixteen

i feel guilty.

i did it again. like in seventh grade, on my birthday—the day my mother said she would never love me. her words fell like shards of glass slicing through my childhood innocence and since then i began to bury the pain beneath another.

it's freshly cut and it stings to take a shower. they say it's better to bleed red than to feel pain. newsflash: i feel numb. am i doing this right? i hope you hear my silent scream.

but i like how she never has to question my choice of clothes and accessories. she'll never think of what's in hiding underneath long covered sleeves and macrame bracelets all laid out on my wrists as if they are one with my skin.

i wonder if you felt a lingering sting, perhaps much worse. how it was painful for your lungs to be filled with saltwater. the ocean salt burns the trembling of your tongue as it melts on your throat like an invasive brine seeping into the crevice of your remains.

did you ever feel the numb sensation as the cold rushed through your body like icy pinpricks? did it whisper a somber embrace in the quiet beneath the waves? did it promise you an end to the suffering? somewhat of a silent offering? i hear it's peaceful there. do you think there's still a room for me?

๓.
delilah